


blood red

by deaddoh



Series: minecraft [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Issues, Interrogation, Loss of Identity, M/M, Marriage, Mild Blood, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaddoh/pseuds/deaddoh
Summary: are you to be accountable for an identity that you don't wholly identify with? are you in control of that piece of you? the part of you that's not really you?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: minecraft [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042806
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	blood red

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know anything about dream's personal life and i'm not claiming to be. this is low key based off that one tweet he made on his alt twitter account.

His hands are still red, covered in blood. Yet, the man, the culprit, caught red-handed, sits calmly at the interrogation table. His hands are interlocked with his thumbs meeting in the middle. He taps out an unheard tune with his foot. His missing wedding band showing the only part of his hand that’s not stained.

“Clay-“

“Dream.”

“Dream?”

The interrogator is confused, looking at the file in front of him. He looks back to the man and sighs.

“Alright, Dream. Why are you here?”

“For murder.”

A quick answer. Sharp and honest. He shows no emotion but doesn’t look relaxed either. The room begins to warm.

“Murder of whom? Might I ask?”

“George. My husband.”

“Right. How long had you two been married?”

“A few years.”

Once again, he’s quick to answer but not fast enough to possibly give away a lie. He’s smart. The interrogator writes something down on a scrap paper. The pen scratches in silence, Dream not filling the room with nervous chatter.

“You’re being quite honest here. Normally people aren’t like that, especially when having been caught in the act. Why’s that?”

“George was loud. I knew I’d get caught.”

“Loud?”

“His screaming.”

Another scribbled down note. The silence is deafening to the interrogator. Dream still looks on, unbothered and calm.

“What did you do before this?”

“I played Minecraft.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was a streamer. So was George.”

“Is that how you two met?”

“Basically.”

Dream eyes the analog clock on the wall. He returns his gaze to the interrogator, looking for something. He’s surprisingly clear-headed post-murder, eyes bright despite the dark stains on his hands and clothes.

“I have a question.”

This is the first time Dream says something that’s not a response to a question. The interrogator is surprised and allows him to continue.

“Why do this? Why do all the investigations and interrogation when you know what happened?”

Huh. The clock ticks and the interrogator resists the urge to look over. The room is still warming.

“We’re looking for a motive.”

“What kind of motive?”

Dream’s face is blank, but now showing signs of sweat. He’s not wiping it away. More notes are taken. The clock’s arms move forward.

“Any kind, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

The questions are seeding doubt. The interrogator looks back to the file and misses a small smile. The photos of the scene are gruesome but contained.

“So tell me, where were you and George when this happened.”

“I was in the bathroom, the upstairs one, and George was downstairs in the living room.”

“Go on.”

“George came upstairs and I attacked him.”

The file is looked over again. The pictures are taken out this time. They’re pushed across the table, so is the autopsy report.

“That’s what you did.”

“I know.”

“Do you feel remorse?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

Dream takes a deep breath and sighs. He looks up to the interrogator and they meet eyes. He doesn’t look away.

“When I remember the things we did together.”

“What kind of things?”

“Domestic things. Sweet thing.”

“Were you two touchy with each other? Like were you two always in physical contact?”

“A little bit, yes.”

Dream finally looks back to the photos. He doesn’t touch them. It even looks like he’s avoiding touching his own clothes as he leans over his hands to look at the evidence. Notes are added. The room is hot now.

“Here’s the elephant in the room. Why did you murder, no, kill George?”

“He kept calling me Clay. I’m Dream.”

“You’re Dream?”

“Yeah. I’m someone who’s accomplished something. Someone who’s proud to have accomplished it.”

“What have you accomplished?”

“I held the world record time for finishing Minecraft. I had an amazing server, with amazing people on it.”

“That’s what Dream has accomplished. What has Clay accomplished?”

“Clay?”

“Yes, Clay.”

Silence. Dream looks contemplative, eyes pitched upwards to the ceiling. He looks back to the interrogator. The clock’s arms move again. It’s been hours and the room is sweltering.

“He’s accomplished... not being an awful person. His-my father wasn’t a kind man.”

Notes are added, furiously this time.

“He wasn’t outright abusive, but he did and said things that weren’t ok to say or do young children, or really any age.”

“What does this have to do with Clay.”

“Clay didn’t want to be like him.”

Silence. The bombshell was finally dropped. The page is flipped and is being written on again.

“So Dream is what Clay wanted to be. And Clay is what I don’t want to be.”

Dream is quiet. He’s still calm.

“But why kill George, your husband, to get to this conclusion. Why end the life of someone you so dearly loved?”

“Don’t use that kind of language on me. I know what you’re doing. The use of husband and dearly are obvious to that fact.”

“Then answer the question.”

“He called me Clay.”

“That’s it?”

“No. He kept calling me it, over and over and over again. I heard it so many times it started to sound like my father. That’s insane! George sounding like my father.”

Dream’s voice pitches up like he’s slipping.

“George was the opposite of my father. He was kind, and level headed. He laughed a lot and smiled easily.”

Dream is calm again. He meets the interrogator’s gaze and leans back in his chair. The room is so hot.

“When I was standing in the bathroom, he kept calling my name. Then pet names, then... Clay.”

“What were you doing in the bathroom all that time?”

“Staring at myself. My reflection that I didn’t recognize.”

“How come you didn’t recognize it?”

“I was hoping it would be Dream looking back, and not Clay.”

“And what does Dream look like?”

“He’s got a green hoodie on. And a flat, white mask with a poorly drawn smiley face on it.”

“Like your Minecraft skin?”

“Yes! Exactly.”

The interrogator stands and Dream remains still, he watches with critical eyes. He knows it’s been hours since the beginning of the interrogation, he’s just as tired. The clock’s ticks fill the room.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you.”

“I do.” And the door swings open.

“-is guilty and is to spend the next eight years in a mental hospital for rehabilitation and treatment. Dismissed.”

This was not the way the world wanted to see what Dream’s face looks like. This was not the way the Dream SMP wanted to learn either. As their friend and now convicted murdered was escorted out in handcuffs and flanked by two officers. They all watched as Dream gave them all a sad smile and a nod.

Sapnap cries.


End file.
